


Dancer

by Weaselwoman



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: A+ Parenting, Alternate Universe - (Mostly) Human, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Antarctica, Asexual Loki, Bittersweet story, Dancing, Eating Disorders, Ice Skating, Intersex Loki, Jotun Loki, Jotun comfort food, Jötnar | Jotuns | Frost Giants (Norse Religion & Lore), Left Hand of Darkness, New York City, Other, Sex Work, lawyers and accountants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:29:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26586649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weaselwoman/pseuds/Weaselwoman
Summary: A tale told in two interlocking time paths.Stark: “’Are we human, or…’ but you’re not human, are you? Not completely.”Tony Stark will later die of a heart attack, leaving his dancer protegee unprotected.
Relationships: Pepper Potts & Loki, Tony Stark & Loki
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	Dancer

Stark: “’Are we human, or…’ but you’re not human, are you? Not completely.”

Tony Stark will later die of a heart attack, leaving his dancer protegee unprotected.

*****

“Eat something, Loki,” his father Laufey bellowed at the high family table in their biggest hall. His mother Farbauti gave him a LOOK. The choice was: eat his fill, or dance, and nine-year-old Loki wanted to dance.

Byleistr, his brother sitting next to him, had no such qualms. “Brother, this is really good!” The two had different mothers, but the same sweet tooth.

*****

Pepper: “What are you looking at, Tony?”

Stark: “Old videos. Damn, that boy could dance. Watch this.”

*****

Airplane crash and snow plague had brought the exotic Farbauti to Laufey’s court. Had turned it into a court, actually; before then, the Jotun outpost of Utgard had been a collection of huts and a hardscrabble community of independent-minded _orsh_ -growers. Jotuns—or Jotnar, the preferred plural—were an ambisexual Gethenian people transplanted to Earth’s most Antarctic and least hospitable climes, since no people should be restricted to only one world. (Or so the sociologists said.)

Farbauti (she had a different name before) had come in a small personal plane; she and the plane crew were sightseeing; she was fleeing the attentions of a rich man who’d wanted her for something other than her dancing talent. And invited her here, to show off. But the plane came too close to The Hidden Fang, and crashed within earshot of Utgard.

Snow plague: outsiders could not live here, could not get enough calories in them fast enough to survive the deep winter before wasting away; and the crash had been in deep winter. But Nál had found Farbauti, had taken her to the trading rooms and buried her in furs; Laufey and Nál had shared their food and body heat; and Farbauti survived, with the help of an unexpectedly early spring.

*****

Stark: “So, do you have any family?”

Loki said, “I have a brother who has a family in Norway.”

“Oh? Got a picture?”

Volstagg and Byleistr, five children. (By had been excited when they finally connected by telephone. “Three sons, and two like _us_. No daughters. Volstagg calls the Jotun babies ‘his reimbursements.’”

Loki had asked By in the rare telephone call, “Are you done having children, then? Can you travel?”

“No, Vol’ wants more. He says there is a pill you can take to bear only Jotnar, so I’m on that now.”

“Is that what you want?” Loki asked.

No answer; shrugs are not communicated by telephone.)

“He looks happy,” says Tony.

Loki points to the image of By, tired and heavy. “ _This_ _one_ is my brother,” he says.

“Oh. I take it you never wanted children?”

“No, thank you.”

*****

Nál was in early pregnancy when she found Farbauti; Laufey was their then-chief, of undetermined and impermanent gender (as were they all) until he came into contact with always-female Farbauti. And then he became male, robustly male, so long as Farbauti was by his side. A prosperous year, and the rest of the colony was pregnant; a prosperous decade along the warming edge of Jotunheim, and Utgard became rich. They exported furs and crafts to the outside world in exchange for exotic foodstuffs; to the other Jotnar, they exported children. And five years later (though it was a risk for Laufey’s male gender and chiefdom), captive Farbauti herself became a mother.

Her name had been Carlotta Bianchi.

*****

Stark: “You mean your mother was Carlotta? I saw her in person once. Then that pig Froeheim took her down to Antarctica, and she died in that crash. Are you really that old?”

******

Farbauti and Nál shared their hut with Nál’s many children; how could Farbauti not want a child of her own? Nál’s Byleistr and Farbauti’s Loki were born in the same season, slept in the same cradle (Byleistr swaddled, Loki always thrashing), walked and ran and played together as they grew. One day as they squabbled for the same toy, Loki grabbed it; then Byleistr charged at him, and Loki leaped straight up!

“He can fly, mama! Mama, look! Loki can fly!”

Farbauti cheered him on. “Look! Smooth ice! Dance for me, my little one, my Loki; you can glide forever on this!” She built him an ice wall onto one side of Laufey’s hall, polished and then spangled it with metal powder from the plane crash; polished it again with fresh ice, a scrounged metal rail built on it. “Can you see yourself reflected, Loki? This is a mirror, and a barre. Watch as I do some steps, then try to do them and watch your reflection; see how close you can come to my moves.”

Byleistr the easy-going, with older brothers married (sold) into other Jotun groups, and younger brothers to be cared for; Loki the willful, the spoiled only son, sole project of a mother missing who she had been.

Byleistr supporting, cheering him on; Loki growing faster, more agile, until he felt he _could_ fly. _This is dancing_ , his mother told him; _this is what I spent my life at, before_.

*****

Stark: “I saw you do that bunch of quads, once. Too bad your bones are like matchsticks, or you’d have had a longer career. Too bad the Olympic Committee wouldn’t allow a Jotun.”

*****

Jotun children, unless starved, gain reproductive potential with adolescence. The underfed ones will not reproduce under harsh Jotunheim conditions. The well-fed ones bloom into voluptuousness.

Odin and his shipmates visit Utgard, looking for more than furs in trade. “I hear you sell your sons, and that they’re better in bed than real women. My boy Thor wants to try one. What have you got?”

That was the year Loki’s age-mates were first ripe enough to sell. He was lined up with them, tall and skinny as a neuter, next to closest brother and hut-mate Byleistr. “That one.” Odin was pointing at him. “Fatten him up; I’ll be back in six months.”

One of the ship’s men took Odin aside for a quiet discussion. “Oh, all right. We’ll take that one too; Volstagg lost his wife and needs a new bedwarmer.” And that was Byleistr.

Over negotiations, Laufey said, “We can’t guarantee Loki will be ready when you return. He doesn’t eat.”

“I thought you had fat camps,” said Odin.

“An old tradition, no more practiced,” Laufey told him. “Our population was much smaller then; Jotnar drew lots to see who would be able to go.”

“Then find an old woman who remembers how it’s done. Better send them both.”

The old feeder (not a woman, a Jotun) had brought them candy. Loki sucked on his as Farbauti yanked him aside, slapped it from his mouth. “Loki! Don’t eat that! Remember, fed means fertile. Fat means brats! Don’t you want to dance?”

“How would I dance here? Like you do?”

She slapped him again, harder.

“The ship will take you away. That was the bargain Laufey made. I knew people before, outside. Professional contacts. They are probably still out there. They can help you find a place to dance. Don’t gain too much weight!”

The two boys were watched constantly as they ate (constantly). They were not watched in the restrooms (and restroom visits were also constant). Loki came up with a new strategy: bulimia.

Byleistr found him retching into a toilet. “Brother, what are you doing? That is good food!” Watching as the swirling water took it away.

“I don’t want it!” Loki snarled.

“Give it to me, and I’ll eat it in here if I have to! We’ll tell them you are too shy to eat in public. But you have to eat something!”

“A little,” said Loki, bargaining.

“A little,” agreed Byleistr.

“Loki won’t eat,” said the old feeder at the progress meeting.

Loki could hear his father’s voice bellowing. “The deal was made. Fed means prosperity for us both!” _Fed means fertile. Fat means brats._ _Or you can dance_ …

“There’s an imported food we can try…”

“Get it!”

“He brought us yams!”

“I don’t want any,” said suspicious Loki. “I’ll stick to _orsh_.”

The yams are highly addictive; Byleistr always craves more.

In six months, the _Valhalla_ returns, and Odin comes to collect the brothers. Byleistr is comely and comfortable to look at; Loki—not so much. A thin blade of an near-child, hiding letters from his mother to her old comrades in the dance company. Volstagg is happy with Byleistr, and vice-versa, but Thor complains that he has been given a bone with no meat for his use as a sex toy. He trades in Loki for a dockside whore in Valparaíso, and the ship leaves Loki behind.

“Write to me, brother!” Byleistr calls from the ship.

Loki works along the dockside (the missing whore’s companions show him how). No-one cares about his papers, his precious letters. Carnival season arrives, subdued compared to Rio, but how he dances! A tourist’s video goes viral.

*****

Pepper had inherited Loki from Stark. (Well, inherited his contract; which worked out to the same thing.) There is a colony of Jotnar at the Bronx Zoo; they live in the penguin house except on the coldest days of the year. Loki is introduced to the colony; they are friendly, but he is very foreign to them.

“The new Jotun’s not eating,” the zoo director tells Pepper.

“I’ll talk to him.”

*****

Finally someone is talking to him who could read Carlotta’s letters. Her old dance company contacted: Carlotta’s son? In South America? But the company’s principals are old, and craving retirement. There is a spin-off dance corps in Los Angeles (already established, with its own cliques); an air ticket, an audition slot. Waiting for a response (and a green card), there are other auditions; there is _Disney on Ice!_ The only _orsh_ available is at Gelson’s; small servings at sky-high prices. He buys some anyway with his first paycheck, tastes nostalgia and longing. _No more_ , Loki tells himself, _or you can’t dance_.

He can’t get a green card. He has no identification acceptable to ICE. Finally he tells them where he was born—points to it on the world map—and the bureaucrats bring in a different team, sociologists, who want to know all about his youth and how he got here. “And what in return?” bargains Loki, who learned this lesson early in his dockside whore days.

He has Special Cultural Status. (It is not the same thing as being a Living Human Treasure; for one thing, Jotnar/Gethenians are not legally considered human in the United States.) Disney discovers that hiring Loki gives them a tax rebate, which they will be reluctant to give up once his contract expires. They also need a Wild Animal Permit (Special), which leads PETA to discover, then protest, his existence. His status is challenged in immigration court.

Loki takes the stand.

“Who owns you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m sorry; who is it that is sponsoring your stay in this country?”

“Shall I leave?” He stood to do so, and the Disney lawyers also stood, shouting, “Your Honor!”

“Objection sustained,” the judge said. “We will further this discussion in my quarters.”

The upshot was: Loki ‘s Special Cultural Status is subject to a sponsorship arrangement, and an employment contract. Both of which he signs. Both of which will last indefinitely, so long as he resides in the United States; and both of which, not yet known to Loki, are transferrable.

On live television, Loki performs an astonishing series of quadruple leaps: Lutzes and Toe Loops and Salchows, then an Axel and a final flip. He is flying, no one can catch him…

His bones and muscles ache. Nutrition is an expensive chore.

The economy restructures; _Disney on Ice!_ is put on ice, but a ballet company is interested, can they get Loki’s contract? The Disney accountants weigh in on the cost/benefits, and the deal goes through. The company director is Loki’s new sponsor.

The ballet company fails, but there is a modern dance company.

Then a revue show.

Some commercial work, and his contract is transferred to an ad agency.

Dinner theater.

An educational charity, bringing dance into schools, which turns out to be a tax fraud.

Loki auditions, but community theatres can’t afford the esoteric details of his contract.

There are night clubs.

There are other clubs.

Loki dances in a club now; slow erotic beats of music behind him, garments of satin and feathers. Some patrons stay late for the special show, and one (or more) generally wants to ravish him afterwards. There are special clothes for that, too: rotting silk, broken feathers.

*****

*****

*****

The Stark Mansion is close to the New York Public Library, and since his retirement from active management of Stark International (one heart attack too many), Tony walks by there on pleasant days. It’s nice to see other New Yorkers enjoying the library as well; sometimes, with his coffee cup steaming, Tony chats with the readers who sit on the broad library steps. (They don’t know him, and he doesn’t know them, so it’s okay to socialize.) There is a slim boyish-featured man in particular that he matches wits with; always there, flashily dressed, often reading history or another nonfiction book in one language or another. The man reminds Tony of his own mother with his graceful gestures, and faint but unplaceable accent.

Fall is here, and it’s starting to get cold. “You doing okay there, Loki?”

The wave of an elegant hand. Loki is reading, don’t bother him.

It’s colder, and Loki is shabbier. “Can I get you a coffee?”

“Maybe hot _orsh_ drink?”

“ _Orsh_! Expensive tastes the boy has.”

“I miss it,” says Loki, and goes back to his book.

Colder still, and Tony risks the walk to see if his friend is at the library steps. He isn’t.

Comes a wet snowy morning; Tony is on his way to a luncheon for the Maria Carbonell Stark Foundation, when he sees Loki sitting on the library steps, no book in hand (no book should be out in this weather), underdressed for the cold and coughing violently. Tony raps on the glass partition, and Happy the driver stops the car. Cold or not, he jumps out.

And then? Does he leave Loki half his coat, like Saint Martin with the beggar? Hell, no; he bundles Loki into the car, and has Happy take them to the emergency room of the nearest hospital. Tony leaves Happy to wait and take care of any paperwork, and catches a cab to his luncheon.

The meeting ends, and Happy and the car are not waiting. Another cab back to the mansion, where Tony can sit and warm up and call his driver. “Well?”

“Tuberculosis.”

“Very romantic. There are antibiotics for that.”

“They can’t treat him.”

“What? Why not?”

“They need his sponsor’s permission first.”

“Then call the damned sponsor. Who is it?”

The sponsor, some burlesque club owner, doesn’t give a shit for Loki’s health. Tony Stark buys Loki’s contract for an undisclosed amount, and becomes his new sponsor.

Tony feeds him up carefully, beef broth and _orsh_ , has Happy take Loki to physical therapy. Gets him stretching and exercising again in the mansion’s otherwise unused ballroom. Shows him old movies: Fred Astaire, _Singin’ in the Rain_ (but not _A Clockwork Orange_ ), even frickin’ _Cats_. Disney’s _The Waltz King_ , and Loki leads Tony in a waltz around the empty room. (Cold precise hands, sweeping steps, a happy hum.) Loki finally smiles.

Tony dies unexpectedly, after a chaste evening spent like all the rest of them.

*****

“I thought I would find a place where you could belong,” Pepper said.

“I don’t belong _anywhere_ ,” Loki told her. “I certainly don’t belong here.”

“It’s an established family.”

“It’s a breeding colony,” he said.

“Well then, what do you want?”

He took her hands into his cold ones. “My rights. Full human dignity.” He’d read that phrase somewhere. “I’ve been a corporate pawn and a sex toy. I will not be an animal.”

“Come work for me and we’ll do it,” Pepper said. “I know a lawyer.”

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, inspirations (many):  
> • The Killers’ _Human_ (the obvious reference and “my hands are cold”)  
> • Ursula Le Guin’s _The Left Hand of Darkness_ , for Gethenians and _orsh_  
>  • Antarctica, which also inspired Le Guin  
> • Hilton’s _Lost Horizon_ (Shangri-La!), for Farbauti’s arrival  
> • Mauritanian fat camps  
> • The later life of Ishi (LeGuin’s childhood companion)  
> • Ed Sheeran’s _The A-Team_ (“It’s too cold outside for angels to fly”)  
> • The early 20th century prevalence of TB sanitaria throughout the Arctic for Inuit and related native peoples  
> • Camille (“very romantic” tuberculosis)  
> • Animal Planet’s _The Zoo_ and _The Secret Life of the Zoo_  
>  • The Mbuti pygmy Ota Benga, who was exhibited at the Bronx Zoo  
>   
> Also:  
> ICE = Immigration and Customs Enforcement  
> PETA = People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals  
> I have never been to Valparaíso, Chile, and have no knowledge as to whether it has carnival celebrations or dockside whores.  
> Please don’t think this work is anti-Disney. No Disney accountants or lawyers were harmed in the making of his fiction.


End file.
